


Rebellion (Lies)

by thnderchld



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Painful Love, Second Chances
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 08:16:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4384241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thnderchld/pseuds/thnderchld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jet is dead. He died in a cave beneath a lake; at the feet of a weeping girl. His last words were that of comfort, the only thing he could ever do anymore; the only thing he could ever do ever again. But he finds himself back at the scene of the moment his death was set in stone.</p><p>This is his chance to make amends. Problem is, his death is something he doesn't know about. Slowly he learns to pry apart his dreams, how to pry apart the heart of the secretive tea server, how to pry everything apart while his heart still beats. </p><p>Death is inevitable, it seems. He is heading evermore towards a grave in a deep green cavern beneath the waves. However, maybe this time things can be sweeter. Maybe this time he can leave a mark on the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rebellion (Lies)

**Author's Note:**

> Story and chapter title come from 'Rebellion (Lies)' and 'Afterlife' by Arcade Fire! This may be a trend, or it might not be.

**J** et is dead. He died in a cave beneath a lake; at the feet of a weeping girl. His last words were that of comfort, the only thing he could ever do anymore; the only thing he could ever do ever again. But he finds himself back at the scene of the moment his death was set in stone.

 

This is his chance to make amends. Problem is, his death is something he doesn't know about. Slowly he learns to pry apart his dreams, how to pry apart the heart of the secretive tea server, how to pry everything apart while his heart still beats.

 

Death is inevitable, it seems. He is heading evermore towards a grave in a deep green cavern beneath the waves. However, maybe this time things can be sweeter. Maybe this time he can leave a mark on the world.

 

 

 

 

Jet tells Smellerbee goodbye. Tells him that he’ll come home. Sometimes Jet can’t keep his promises. Don’t get me wrong, Jet isn’t trying to abandon them. When he stands in the green light, the sickly green crystals gleaming, all he can think is _How did I get here? What have I done?_

He thinks that his last moments are great, he dies for the greater good. He’s struck by the irony that his devotion to the Fire Nation led to him dying in the most _Earth_ y place he can think of.

 

The last person he thinks of is Li, the thought ripping through his head like shattering glass. _Fucking firebenders,_ he thinks, and then he dies.

 

 

 

 

The light inside the port is dim, and Jet is glad, for he knows that any prominent light would _kill_ his brain. He already has the slight fuzziness of dehydration and sleep deprivation. He can feel gravity pulling on his lower eyelids, turning them purple with tiredness.

 

Jet groans, pressing his fingers into his eyes. He feels the haziness of his dream. The only thing he can remember is green, and a deep feeling of _pain_ in his lower gut; the sense of everything unfurling and coming undone.

 

He can remember hazy images. A strange man, Smellerbee and Longshot. Katara. The only way Katara could be there is in a dream. She wants nothing to do with him. Which is a shame, like sometimes Jet tries to think of a future beyond ice and trees, but there is nothing Jet is good for beyond detonation and destruction of the _enemy._ That is what Jet has devoted his life to for the past six years of his life.

 

Sometimes when Jet thinks about the war ending, he thinks it might kill him.

 

In fact, on inspecting the deep intricacies of his mind and what clear parts he _can_ see, he thinks he might have been-

 

“Sir.”

 

Jet blinks, sliding out of his post-dream haze. From the rocky floor he looks up to see a woman with red hair and hazel eyes, crossing her arms across her chest. “Sir,” she repeats.

 

“Mmmm?” he asks, looking up at her inquisitively. “Yeah? What is it?”

 

“Your boat. It’s preparing to leave.”

 

“ _Finally,”_ he hears Smellerbee gasp. “He wasn’t waking up to _us._ ”

 

Jet waves them off, blinking his dusty eyes. “That’s because I’m used to you.”

 

Smellerbee says something in protest, but Jet looks at the girl. “So, what are you saying? I’m sorry.”

 

“I’m warning you. Our boats won’t wait for you. It’s the last one for a week.”

 

Jet jumps to his feet. “Oh, okay. Um, thank you,” he splutters; and gropes for the bag he’s brought with him; hoisting it over his shoulder.

 

“It’s my job.”

 

Jet nods. “Yeah, I know. But a lot of people here don’t do their job.” He smiles at her in what he hopes is kindness, but he grabs Smellerbee by the arm and starts to run towards the ship with Longshot tailing them silently.

 

Jet passes security and is the last person to get on the ship. He feels the breath rush from his lungs at the creaking of wood beneath his weight. He looks around at all the people on deck and wonders how many it would take for the wood to snap beneath them. For the boat to sink.

 

He shakes his head and grips the edge of the boat, looking out at the sea; the slight bobbing of the ship. He breathes out hard, dislodging his thoughts. His dream has messed him up.

 

“Jet,” Smellerbee says and he looks at her. He smiles warmly, and it’s started to feel important. “You okay, bro?”

 

He gives her a thumbs up. “Just worried about seasickness,” he mumbles, leaning against the edge. “And sea wobbles.”

 

When she looks at him for clarification, he continues. “If I can’t walk tonight I might fall over the edge.” He grins at her, gives two chuckles to show the joke.

 

Smellerbee raises an eyebrow at him and shakes her head. “You’ll be _asleep,_ Jet.”

 

Jet grins knowingly, and that funny little spark of incredulity burns inside his pupils. “If I can get to sleep. I’ll probably get seasick and then I won’t be attractive,” he jibes, leaning backwards and pushing the hair away from his face.

 

“No one will care, Jet,” Smellerbee scoffs. “Sorry to break it to you, but I don’t think there are any eligible people who’re gonna lose themselves to you tonight.”

 

Jet casts his gaze to the water, smiling. “Fuck you.”

 

Smellerbee sidles over and copies Jet’s stance, though shorter. “That’s what little sisters are for: the bitter truth. And then you say ‘Fuck you’ and I make fun of you until you stop humouring me and I leave.”

 

She smiles warmly and chuckles. “Gay nerd.”

 

Jet pretends to be offended and gapes. “You’re one to talk! Bee, no one in the Freedom Fighters is straight.”

 

Smellerbee laughs again. “Siblings are also hypocrites. What goes in blood stays in blood.”

 

“That a new saying. Where’d you get it?”

 

Smellerbee inspects her fingernails, smirking. “A girl has her ways.” She looks up at him. “In other words, I made it up. You never know, maybe I’ll become a motivational speaker.”

 

“I wish you luck,” he says, and the boat starts to move. He almost staggers, but he plants his hands on the edge, gripping the wood. “I’m going to go find Longshot. They’re getting something to use as earmuffs. Or something that they can sleep on better, for sensory issues.”

 

 

He finds Longshot in a back room, casually going through a pile of fabrics, rubbing them between their fingers carefully and thinking.

 

“Sibling,” Jet announces himself, taking a seat on the floor. “We’re heading to Ba Sing Se. There, we shall grow above swords and lives, comrade.” He grins, leaning against a crate.

 

Longshot pauses for a moment, and then snorts, nodding. They turn around, gripping two blankets: a chenille and a reed blanket. The reed blanket will cover Longshot’s feet, protecting them from the chenille’s tassels scratching their feet.

 

“Bee?” they ask, and Jet nods.

 

“On deck,” Jet affirms with a wave of his hand. He pats the ground beside him. “Sit.”

 

Longshot tips their head and draws their eyebrows in confusion.

 

“Just ‘cause,” Jet says. “It’s hardly ever you and I alone. Actually, I’m hardly alone with anyone. My company is pretty full.”

 

Longshot places the reed blanket beneath them and sits on it. They nod carefully, thinking deeply.

 

“I’m ready to be going somewhere with the ones I love and need,” Jet says.

 

Silence constricts around Longshot’s tongue; the way it always does when they’re about to say something. Jet used to lean into it, but he doesn’t do that anymore.

 

 

 

“The Duke,” Longshot says, testing the atmosphere. They look at Jet cautiously, looking for any negative impact of the name.

 

Jet straightens. “What about him?”

 

“The Duke.”

 

Jet shuts his eyes. “He’s not here. Why?”

 

“Why?”

 

“Why?”

 

Longshot takes a deep breath, steadying themselves. “Pipsqueak. The Duke. They’re- they’re our family.”

 

Longshot breathes in again, sucking the air and keeping it captive inside their chest.

 

Jet nods. “Yeah. That’s why they’re not here. Family is sacrifice, family is knowing what’s best. The Duke’s safety was what I prioritised.”

 

Longshot frowns deeper. “Fire Nation?”

 

“Only a few months,” Jet reminds them. A smile casts upon his lips again. “There’s only a few months until the Avatar kills the Fire Lord. Then we’ll go home.”

 

Jet doesn’t voice the lingering fear that embeds itself in his throat, that spreads poison through his chest and creates a tiny _knot_ of interwoven fears, that has been growing ever since Katara left. Or maybe it was from when he first saw the Avatar. Those events kind of went hand in hand, anyway.

 

He doesn’t say ‘ _What will we do?’._ He never asks that, because no one, anywhere, would ever be able to give him an honest answer. _Who will I become? What of me will be lost?_

He doesn’t meet Longshot’s gaze. He looks at a point between Longshot’s eyebrows and smirks, saying, “No doubt our sister is missing you.”

 

Longshot smiles a little bit, in a way that has always satisfied Jet. “You?”

 

“I’ll come up after you, don’t wait. I’m just going to sit for a while. Not much quiet on the rest of the bus.”

 

Longshot grabs a strap of some fabric and knots it around their forehead, tying it tight against their ears.

 

“Okay.”

 

Jet stays, after Longshot leaves the room. He lies down on the floor, calming himself with the cold, misty air rushing into his lungs, the musk of the uniforms. The scent of mothballs.

 

Jet lets the rate of his heart drop inside his chest, and he places a hand over where he knows the heart is. He closes his eyes, revelling in the darkness. He lets it set inside him, the coolness calming his breathing.

 

Jet gets to his feet, rubbing his hands for warmth. The boat’s insides are chilly, especially since he thinks that this room hasn’t been opened for long.

 

He leaves it and steps out onto the deck; observing the people there. He sees his fellow refugees, and the familiar crooning of justice burns inside his ribcage. He doesn’t make a sound, forever.

 

He locates Smellerbee and Longshot and sidles over to them, leaning against the rail. He watches the sea rising and falling beneath them. The boat is low-ish, so the waves send shrills of fear through his chest. It’s not too bad, though. Water over fire, anyday.

 

“In another age I’d make a speech,” he mutters to himself, and he looks over the edge of the boat into the water below. He sees the sea foam parting before the hull of the ship; sliced and separated.

 

There’s the strange feeling of sadness twisting his throat. Of longing. He can’t freaking _wait_ for the Avatar to kill that stupid Fire Lord.

 

He hears some footsteps behind him, and something about the sound is important, meaningful. He thinks it sounds lost, as well. But then again, he must just be thinking things.

 

Jet turns around to look at the source of the sound and sees a masculine figure leaning against the railing. He’s with a middle aged, rather fat man wearing a straw hat, although the man seems to be absorbed with chatting to a young lady.

 

The boy looks tense. Jet is intrigued.

 

He saunters over to the boy’s left side. He can see the flash of a scar mapping across the top half of his cheek; to behind his ear.

 

Jet leans next to him, trying to imitate an atmosphere of apathy and coolness.

 

Yeah, that’s it. Jet thinks this boy might be _cool._

“Hey,” he says, and the boy stops; for a moment suspended inaction. But Jet can _feel_ the crackle in the air between them, as the boy waits for words to come.

 

“H-what? Is something bothering you? There’s enough rail for everyone to look over.” For some reason he doesn’t think that this boy’s looking at the water. Not for its beauty, at least.

 

Jet turns so his elbow rests on it. “I was just saying hi.”

 

The boy scowls. “Hello, then. There, you got a response.”

 

Jet listens to his own breathing and sighs. He faces the boy’s left side; red against the sun-bleached skin. The boy doesn’t want to talk to him, but Jet isn’t giving up. “You know, some people believe that if you look into the ocean far enough you’ll see your death. Whether that’s legitimate or solitary insanity, I don’t know.”

 

He catches the sight shrug of the boy’s shoulders. “Seasickness.”

 

Jet now turns his head, pretending to peer into the belly of a wave. “Hate the sea. It hates me back.”

 

“The sea hates everyone.”

 

“Not waterbenders,” Jet corrects, and he mimics flicking the water with his wrist. “Would be cool to be a waterbender, don’t ya think?”

 

“I dunno.”

 

Jet frowns. The guy must have more important things to sort out. Jet sighs loudly and turns to leave. But he keeps his hearing ready to engage with the boy again.

 

His opportunity comes when the boy is talking to his grandfather.

 

“I’m sick of living like this.” The boy’s voice is rough, but it’s like all the roughness of the world has been beaten into it over time. It’s got something hidden in it, like a secret.

 

Jet smiles and steps forward. “Aren’t we all,” he says. The words rush through his body, and it feels nice to say it. The boy turns his head a little bit, looking Jet over. Jet grins.

 

“My name’s Jet,” he says, “and these are my Freedom Fighters, Smellerbee and Longshot.” He gestures over his siblings with a flick of his fingers. Smellerbee’s face is impassive as she acknowledges them.

 

“Hello,” the boy says, but he doesn’t really say it. It’s more like a memory, like a flush of air pushing the word from his lips.

 

Jet steps forward. “Here’s the deal,” he says, lowering his voice so that he can pull off that magnetism he wishes he had. “I hear the captain’s eating like a king, while the rest of us refugees have to feed off his scraps. Doesn’t seem fair, does it?” His eyes narrow, pushing forward the message.

 

The grandfather looks at him and Jet feels a rush of pleasure at his well-placed faith. These people have fallen from richness, they aren’t accustomed to the sick loneliness of their stomachs. The grandson mustn’t be used to the feeling of his ribs beneath his fingertips. “What kind of king is he eating like?” the grandfather asks, and Jet struggles not to laugh with delight. The boy’ll have to come along, too.

 

“The fat happy kind,” Jet says, and once again he’s held at the edge of what the boy is going to say. “You wanna help us liberate some food?”

 

The boy stares at the bowl of rotten sea slugs and rind, but Jet already knows. He pulls back his arm and throws the bowl into the sea. He turns his body towards Jet. “I’m in,” he says, and Jet feels _great._

 

The afternoon wears on, and Jet finds himself talking to the boy. Well, his name is Li. But Jet knows that Li’s lying. He wears the lie like his clothes, but Jet can pick up on the messy stitching.

 

But Jet can’t bother calling him on it. People wear names for a reason and Jet doesn’t have a reason to fight him on it. Spirits, it’s not like he could judge him for his name; not with his siblings’ names. Not with _his_ name.

 

Jet and Li are, strangely, alone. He’s supposed to be discussing the plan, but Jet finds himself without words in Li’s company. It is confusing, and startling, and his mouth feels like an empty jar.

 

“So…” Jet mumbles, lying back and resting his head on his forearms. “What brings you to Ba Sing Se?”

 

After a few pangs of silence, Jet chuckles. “Trick question, it was the Fire Nation. It’s _always_ the Fire Nation.” He squints up at the roof, and the words trickle steadily from the side of his mouth. He imagines the sound waves ringing from his vocal box.

 

“Yeah,” Li whispers. “Yeah.”

 

“I wonder what it’s like inside their heads,” Jet sighs, eyes fluttering closed. “Is it hot in their brains, do you think? What makes them like that? Why do they always come in and _ruin_ everything. Ruin not just first families, but seconds. Ruin skin. Ruin _lives._ Tear apart our communities, our friendships, our support systems. How do they just _do_ that? Surely they must understand that we aren’t emotionless hulls! I don’t get it.”

 

Li is silent, and he nods quietly. “Yeah. Strange.”

 

“Li? If one burned the Fire Nation to the ground would it be ironic? Is that what the word means?”

Li’s face remains impassive. “It’d be murder.”

 

“But don’t you think they kinda deserve it? After what they’ve done to us? After all of their selfishness, don’t they deserve to pay?”

Li’s voice is quiet when he whispers, “There are children in the Fire Nation. They don’t deserve to pay.”

 

Jet’s eyes widen and then they shut. “Another me would believe in sacrifice. But this is a new me. And this me says that you’re right.”

 

“Good. They don’t deserve to die.”

 

Jet nods ever so slightly. “I still think they deserve to pay. I still hate them.”

 

“That’s okay. You can hate them. They’ve done awful things.”

 

“I know.”

 

Jet sits up, grinning. “So,” he announces, “The plan.”

 

Li nods and shuffles closer. For a moment Jet catches a snatch of how _yellow_ his eyes are. He knows that yellow. _What have they done to you?_

But this boy’s eyes are so, so different. They’re gold; a hearth of festering warmth. They also have a fireguard. Jet wonders what they would look like as an open flame. Jet also wonders what it’d take to make them fall, what it’d take for them to turn into a wildfire; whether it’d smoulder or turn into embers or- oh no. _Oh no._

 

“They’re lousy at keeping shifts. When the fourth guard goes to find the fifth, we break in and steal the food.”

 

He pulls a fist of triumph, and his grin feels safe. For a moment he wonders whether Li just glanced at his lips, but he thinks better of it. He takes the thought off like a suit from his body. He won’t ruin it.

 

“We should get alcohol, too,” Jet snickers. “Let’s ruin our night.”

 

“Why?”

 

Jet’s grin is godlike as he raises his fist. “It’s our last night as _just_ Earth Kingdom refugees. Tomorrow, we become residents of Ba Sing Se. We get a new life. We are new men. Or women. Or nonbinary people. We’re new people in general.” Then his smile softens and he meets Li’s gaze. “Plus, we deserve it.”

 

“It’s been ages since I’ve drank. Years. I don’t want to get drunk.”

 

“We won’t. It’ll only be celebratory.”

 

A sudden, unexpected smile slips onto Li’s face and he chuckles. “You know what? Fine.”

 

“Good.”

 

 

 

Between the fourth and fifth guard they slip into the kitchen, their feet light and their fingers swift. And there is no _way_ Li is inexperienced at this. The right amount of breath, the right amount of footsteps pressing silently to the floor. He doesn’t stumble, and everyone stumbles their first time.

 

He wants to know. Li has given Jet too many _questions,_ so many contradictions. How the roughness slides against the slate, the glass against the sand. Something inside him has been roughened, something has been sacrificed. But here he’s going to the land of second chances and beginnings.

 

Jet thinks that if he got too close to Li, he might shiver. He might do something. He might be vulnerable.

 

 _Asshole,_ the thought comes on a breath of wind, and the word is almost frightened, but also so, so tired. _How dare you. I hope you break my heart._

Then he pushes the thought away, gritting his teeth. He can feel Smellerbee’s gaze on the back of his neck, prickling with suspicion. He turns away swiftly, slicing some roasted bear-chicken into a bag.

 

He can’t help glancing at the craftsmanship of Li’s fingers; tying ribbons around the rice and finishing with a knot at the top.

 

To finish off, Jet takes Li to locate the alcohol room, a large room with no windows or light, and takes a bottle of Huangjiu with him.

 

However, as Jet is reaching for the bottle, he hears footsteps around the room. He flings the bag of food to corner of the room and grabs Li, pulling him into the shadows. He turns around so that his body keeps Li in its shadow. He isn’t sure whose heartbeat keeps burying in his ears, but he isn’t sure if he cares.

 

When the footsteps move away, Jet steps back, dusting off his pants. “Sorry,” he mumbles. He can’t look at Li; his throat feels swollen. “Was trying to hide you.”

 

He senses Li nodding.

 

“So,” he mutters. “Bee and Longshot are waiting for us.”

 

They make their way out of the room and dash to where they know Smellerbee is waiting. “What took you so long?” she hisses, “Should’ve known not to let you two run off.”

 

“Wha-no!” Jet hisses, but Smellerbee simply rolls her eyes. She’s got him figured it out. Five years does that to a relationship.

 

“Sure, bro,” she whispers. “But you thought about it.”

 

Jet chokes on his own spit, but follows his sister down to the deck with Li blissfully unknowing behind them.

 

 

It’s after dinner and everyone is asleep, except for Jet and Li. Isn’t that just the way it goes. They’re lying in the dark with their heads on their forearms. Jet can hear the slight wheeze of Smellerbee’s snoring, although she’ll never admit to it. Jet glances at Li, expecting his eyes to be shut. But they’re not.

Of course someone like him fears sleep.

 

“Nice work, before,” Jet says, his voice worn out. Li doesn’t respond, and Jet wonders if maybe he just sleeps with his eyes open after all, before Li responds.

 

“Yeah,” he whispers. “You too.” The moon is hiding, and Jet can’t see anything other than the darkness between them and- when his eyes have adjusted- the ashen lines of Li’s right side.

 

“You’re the only one who hasn’t complained about the ocean. Even your grandfather- Mushi?- has groaned at his churning stomach.”

 

Li sighs. “I spent three years in the Earth Kingdom navy. I got used to it.”

 

Jet sits up and shuffles over to Li. Li sits up as well. “Must have an iron stomach, huh?” he smirks the smirk that has always worked for him, but Li looks impassive. Jet rests his chin on his knees. “I hate the ocean. Always have. Something about how it’s light on the surface and then _so, so dark._ You know? You understand why they say it shows you your death.”

 

“Maybe they saw their death because the boat was leaking.”

 

Jet chuckles and smiles. So he _can_ tell a joke. Stupid ass. “Yeah.”

 

Jet gets to his feet suddenly. He stands with his arms crossed across his chest, looking at Li with an awful smile.

 

“What? Are you going somewhere?”

 

“Yeah. Just to the railing.”

 

“Why?” Li puzzles.

 

Jet’s smile is less awful, softer. But still awful, because when he looks at Li he feels awful. “Stars,” he says simply, and turns on his heels.

 

The ribbon of stars spools above them specks of white. Specks of white that are never, ever gone. Jet wonders about Ba Sing Se. He already gets the sensation of being trapped on all sides; the feeling of a fist clamped between the shutting doors of his chest.

 

“Jet,” says a voice, and of _course_ it’s Li. Jet closes his eyes and trains his face into a smile.

 

“Hey.”

 

Jet can’t bring himself to look at Li, but it’s everything he can do to keep himself staring at the blacks of his eyelids. They’re black like ash.

 

“You okay?”

 

Jet opens his eyes, frowning. Of course, of course he’s okay. But instead he turns to Li and whispers, “What do you mean?”

 

Li takes it as an answer and nods. “We’re a long way from home, aren’t we? We all are.”

 

“Yeah,” Jet mutters, and swallows the lump in his throat. How stupid he is, getting a crush on a boy who he’ll never see again.

 

He turns to face Li, and it almost comes as a sob. “Have you ever kissed anyone?”

 

Li frowns in confusion. “No. Why?”

 

“No reason,” Jet stammers. “Just curious. It’s our last night as townless men. We can get our secrets out here and emerge into the day as innocents.”

 

Li chuckles into the night and Jet knows that stupid things happen when you’re the only two awake. “No we can’t.”

 

“I know.”

 

Jet rests his head on his hand. “Imagine being able to say you got your first kiss on the boat to Ba Sing Se. That’d be cool.”

 

There’s a beat of silence that cracks into the abscess of his chest.

“Are you asking me to kiss you?”

 

Jet blushes deeply. “Depends on if you say yes or not.”

 

Li chuckles and presses a peck to the corner of Jet’s mouth. “For good luck. And for finding me again.”

 

“Thank you. Is that your first kiss?”

 

“Not a full kiss. Not ready for that, yet.” Jet can sense Li blushing; wiping a hand down his face.

 

Jet laughs to himself quietly, but his mind is slightly bitter. _How dare he tease me like that when I’m never going to see him again?_

 

The thought stews and stews and _oh gods._

 

“Oh no,” he groans. “Sea sickness.”

 

Humiliation burns in his stomach as he leans over the edge of the boat, spilling his dinner into the sea. Li strokes Jet’s hair away from his face and does Jet the only justice he can by looking away. “There you go,” he grimaces, “Let it all out, now.”

 

 _Fuck you,_ Jet thinks.

 

 

 

 


End file.
